‘guard, turn out!’ And what chance would
scarlatina and old clooty have? No, no, she’ll
be snug there in her sentry-box. What a blessed
escape from ruin! Mary, dear, make me another
tumbler, and d——­n the gout!”—­he
had a sharp twinge. “I’ll drink ‘here’s
luck!’ Frank, go pack your kit, and instead
of demolishing Selby Sly, see Kitty decently sodded.
Your mother, Constance, and myself will rumble after
you to town by easy stages. I wonder how aunt
Catherine will cut up. If she has left as much
cash behind as she has lavished good advice in her
parting epistle, by—­” and my father
did ejaculate a regular rasper—­“I’ll
re-purchase the harriers, as I have got a whisper
that poor Dick was cleaned out the last meeting at
the Curragh, and the pack is in the market.”

* * * *
*

CHAPTER III.

“I have tremor cordis on
me.”—­Winter’s Tale.

It is a queer world after all; manifold are its ups
and downs, and life is but a medley of fair promise,
excited hope, and bitter disappointment.

Never did a family party start for the metropolis
with gayer hearts, or on a more agreeable mission.
Our honored relative (authoritate the Methodist
Magazine) had “shuffled off” in the best
marching order imaginable. Before the rout had
arrived, her house had been perfectly arranged, but
her will, “wo [**Unreadable] day,” was
afterward found to be too informal. It was hinted
that the mission to Timbuctoo, although not legally
binding on the next of kin, should be considered a
sacred injunction and first lien on the estates.
In a religious light, according to the Reverend Mr.
Sharpington, formalities were unnecessary; but my
father observed, sotto voce, in reply, and in
the plain vernacular of the day, what in modern times
would have been more figuratively expressed, namely,
“Did not the gospel-trumpeters wish they might
get it!” The kennel, whose door for two years
had not been opened, was again unlocked; whitewashing
and reparations were extensively ordered; a prudent
envoy was dispatched to re-purchase the pack, which,
rebut egenis, had been laid down, and the colonel,
in his “mind’s eye,” and oblivious
of cloth shoes, once more was up to his knees in leather,[2]
and taking everything in the shape of fence and brook,
just as the Lord pleased to dispose them.

A cellar census was next decided on, and by a stout
exertion, and at the same time with a heavy heart,
my father hobbled down the stone steps and entered
an underground repertorium, which once he took much
pride in visiting. Alas! its glory had departed;
the empty bins were richly fringed with cobwebbed
tapestries, and silently admitted a non-occupancy
by bottles for past years. The colonel sighed.
He remembered his grandfather’s parting benediction.
Almost in infancy, malignant fever within one brief
week had deprived him of both parents, and a chasm
in direct succession was thus created. A summons
from school was unexpectedly received, and although
the young heir and the courier borrowed liberally
from the night, it was past cock-crow when they reached
their destination.